


Boys Playing Soldiers

by sgtcyanide221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 13:57:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgtcyanide221b/pseuds/sgtcyanide221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Baskerville, Sherlock had been enchanted by the idea of John Watson in uniform. And, when possible; he likes to try and indulge in this little fantasy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boys Playing Soldiers

John Watson's hand snapped to his head, wavering only slightly. A faint smirk ghosted on his lips as he resisted the urge to look up into the eyes burning into him. But, he knew better than to break rank now. It would be fun, certainly - but, this whole situation was fun.

“Are you ready, Captain?” The usually light baritone was a low, rasping growl, layered with an order. 

Captain John Hamish Watson felt his knees buckle as he contemplated what was in store for him. A hand gripped his shoulder, forcing him back to his feet. 

“That won’t do will it?” The growl was displeased, and this alone pleased John. He knew that the more displeased the voice was, the more interesting this drill was going to be. 

“No, sir.” John responded, the smirk threatening to betray his façade of calm broke through for a moment. His commanding officer had his lips at John’s earlobe.

“Drop and give me twenty, Captain.” He made sure to exhale slowly on the spot just below John’s earlobe and watching the Captain shudder at the warmth of air, a smirk twisting on his lips.

John lowered himself into the press-up position, complying with the order, merely for the sake of trying to please Him. He had barely lowered himself to the ground once, when he became aware of the pressure on his back. His Major had placed a foot on his back and was increasing the weight with which he had to press. But, John knew better than to argue – he continued to force his weight to the ground, then back up. A small groan escaping his lips as he continued. 

“I think that’ll do, Captain.” The Major had seen enough. Which tended to mean only one thing. 

He was shoved to his feet again, this time, with decidedly more purpose. He was forced to look into the blue-grey eyes of his Major and watched them burn darkly. He knew what was to come, yet, was powerless to do anything to speed up the process. The Major enjoyed playing with him. It was his primary source of entertainment. 

“I said, that will do!” He barked, his fingers tracing the line of the Captain’s jaw deftly. The Major watched with a smirk on his face as John Watson shivered at his touch. Anticipating his next move. 

The Major’s long fingers danced down the buttons of John’s shirt. Teasing the first open, the Major’s eyes remained fixed on John’s. He wanted John to see everything, but nothing at the same time. He ripped the shirt from John’s body in one movement – John froze at the rapidity with which the situation had developed. 

“It looks as though you’re enjoying this, Captain.” 

He brought his lips to a mere centimeter in front of John’s, while his fingers danced patterns down his chest and finally coming to a rest at the button-fly of John’s dark blue jeans. Leaning forward, he grazed John’s lips with his own, pulling back almost immediately, with a deep chuckle. 

John broke his cool for a second, his own hands seeking some part of the Commanding Officer, to which he could cling and bring his lips back onto his, hungrily. 

“Dear God, Sherlock – play fair!” John whined, finally winding his fingers into his curls.

“Who said I was playing, John?” Sherlock responded harshly, forcing John’s hand from his hair and forcing them to his side. “This is far from a game, Captain. Now will you behave like a good little soldier!”

John groaned softly, relaxing his muscles which had tensed at the touch. It was best to let Sherlock take control. For the time being. 

Sherlock, with a vice-like grip on John’s hands, forced him backwards, tightening his grip on John’s wrists and with a nudge, sent him crashing into the bed. He maintained this grip for as long as possible. Straddling John’s waist, he brought his lips down, and with lingering kisses, trailed down the jaw and, upon reaching the hollow of his neck, exerted enough pressure to extract a low moan from John. A pleading sound. All the while, John struggling to free his hands and reach for Sherlock’s face. His hands were caught and Sherlock moved out of John’s grasp, deciding to punish John for fighting against the restraint. 

“You disobeyed me, Captain. You know what this means.” Sherlock growled, climbing from John’s lap and looking down on him disdainfully. “Get on your knees!” The demand was coupled with a shove to the ground and yet another growl.

John was on his knees in mere moments, fingers fumbling with Sherlock’s pants. Sherlock had to repress the giggle that had built behind his lips as he watched John’s frustration. Instead, he moved John’s hands away from his fly and eased it open, (the only moment of kindness he was willing to offer). The pants were forced past Sherlock’s knees, the thin cotton of his black boxer shorts following shortly afterwards. 

Dropping all pretence of trying to avoid complying with a direct order, John’s lips were soon encircling the swollen head. The small noise that emanated from Sherlock was enough to spur John on – he fell into an easy rhythm; moving slowly down the length of the shaft, allowing the member to hit the back of his throat before beginning a faster pace. By the time Sherlock’s fingers had knotted into John’s crop of brown hair, John had relaxed the muscles in his throat, allowing the full length into his mouth – his hands gripping onto Sherlock’s hips, aiding him into the rhythm. When he heard Sherlock’s satisfied groan, he made sure to come to an abrupt halt. 

“What are you doing, Captain?” Sherlock demanded, trying to force himself back into character, with diminished levels of success. “You’re hardly doing a good enough job are you?” He muttered, more to himself than to John. 

John reacted with a smirk and climbed up Sherlock’s body. “On your knees and show me how it’ s done then, Soldier.” John growled lustfully, pushing down on Sherlock’s shoulders.

The tide was about to turn. And Sherlock was going to enjoy himself. As much as John would attempt it to the contrary. 

His long fingers had the button-fly open and the obstacle of the somewhat garish Union Flag pants, was soon obliterated. He could not resist a series of kisses along the inner thigh before planting a single kiss on the tip. John’s gasp of delight was the catalyst for Sherlock’s next move. Before John could respond fully, Sherlock had taken him into his mouth fully, using his fingers as an extension of his mouth. Twirling his tongue around the shaft as he moved, building speed and working to the movement of John’s hips, gently rocking against his mouth – almost forcing him to move faster and deeper. Meeting with no resistance, John forced himself rather more forcefully. He met the reaction he had been expecting: a choke of surprise, yet, not surcease in speed or even technique. 

John’s hands were knotted into the soft curls of Sherlock’s hair, a steady litany of groans and curses streaming from his lips as the euphoria flooded his veins and ecstasy burned through him, stronger than any man-made stimulant on the planet. 

He grumbled a pre-warning in time, in amidst the groans and moans of Sherlock’s name, and it only seemed to speed on Sherlock – he forced John deeper into his mouth and as he felt John’s body shake with the intensity of his orgasm, Sherlock increased the rapidity of his movements and John’s load hit the roof of his mouth, accompanied by a dull groan and a whimper of Sherlock’s name. 

John collapsed onto the edge of his bed, with a light laugh. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to smooth it back into place. 

“Next time, Sherlock – can we try and avoid breaking my back?” He complained, arching his back and listening to the bones crack from the extra pressure Sherlock had placed on it.

Sherlock leapt to his feet and positioned himself on the bed behind John, his hands finding the place in John’s back and massaging it gently. “Make that an order,Captain, and we may have a deal.” Sherlock purred against John’s neck.

"Easy!" John muttered. "We've got clients to see today."

John eased Sherlock’s arms from around him and stood up. He needed to get changed for the day’s inundation of clients. There was no way he could face them with a ripped shirt and pants around his ankles. Sherlock looked on as John pulled up his pants – disgust on his face. 

“Don’t you like them?” John queried, swiftly hiding them with his jeans and making sure the fabric was hidden from sight. 

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “No. They’re hideous.” He grumbled, kicking himself from the bed and hurrying to fix his own appearance. His shirt unbuttoned and wrinkled was in need of replacing, yet, his own collection of clothes was not in John’s room. 

“I keep some up here, Sherlock – left hand draw.” John sighed, pointing out the draws beneath his wardrobe, inside: a sparse collection of Sherlock’s shirts, including John’s favourite; a dark purple number. 

Sherlock shrugged out of his first choice and slipped his arms into the new shirt, all the while watching John’s face. He enjoyed the flash of lust and, just to savor it, he took his time in making sure each button was fastened slowly. His jacket hung on the back of the bedroom door, safe from creases. As he tried to walk and fetch it, his feet became entangled in the mess that had been his trousers and boxers. He crashed face first into the ground and John could not help but burst into hysterical laughter. 

“Very funny, John.” Sherlock growled dangerously. “You’re a medical man – you know the damage that I could have not to myself.”

“Calm down, Sherlock – did you hurt your head” John placed his hand against Sherlock’s cheek – Sherlock responded with a shake of his head. “Did you hurt anything else of importance?” John’s free hand teased Sherlock’s still erect penis and watched the burst of enjoyment as he did so. “Well, that means you didn’t hurt anything of importance. So, stop worrying.” John was offhand and cheerful about the moment, nonetheless, Sherlock was less cheerful – he was more annoyed that John was allowed to get away with teasing him so obviously. 

He decided on his own payback: once again, the pair became embroiled, hands interlocked, bodies fitted together, nearly perfectly and groans and delight elevated to a fever pitch, mingled with heavy breathing. Hands roamed what inches of free skin remained, and, where none remained, they made the most of what was available. John made the most of Sherlock’s groan of delight and took his chance to lay open mouthed kisses on him. A single kiss leading to many smaller, lingering kisses, some of which Sherlock attempted to force deeper, his tongue lapping at John’s bottom lip, pleading for entry. John, at the last moment complied; he felt the gentleness of Sherlock, yet, the eagerness and desire, too. Sherlock’s hands were careful, yet, full of purpose as the caressed his face, his back, chest and everywhere else they could reach. 

With a knowing groan, John relaxed; his legs wrapping around Sherlock’s waist, pulling his body against him, feeling every inch of the taller, more forceful man. Their closeness combined the beats of their hearts – a single, disjointed rhythm, beating in time to their ragged breaths, caught in between kisses. 

Before things could escalate further, there was a shout from the kitchen; Mrs. Hudson, their sometime landlady, and sometime housekeeper, (no matter how much she would deny it). Regrettably, John and Sherlock parted – exchanged a look and broke down into fits of laughter.

John took one look at himself in the mirror and groaned, there was probably no way of hiding this morning’s ‘drill’ from Mrs. Hudson. The woman who had sharper eyes than Sherlock when it came to gossip. Not that it was probably possible to hide a relationship from her in this house. With only a floor separating them, there were bound to be instances when she had heard direct orders being yelled, and often carried out, by the Captain and his Major, (or, any other commanding officer, for that matter.. Sherlock didn’t really mind which..)

“Now, I think we should go and join, Mrs. H. That sounds like you have another case, Sherlock.” John coughed, tidying his shirt up and smoothing his hair. 

“Yes, Captain.” Sherlock sighed, snatching his pants and boxers up and slipping them on. 

“And, I do mean what I said, Soldier – next time, try not to break my back. THAT IS AN ORDER!” John added with a growl, slipping back into character. He watched Sherlock’s face and the ecstasy which momentarily appeared there. 

Sherlock finished rearranging himself – flattening some of his curls, while smoothing the creases from his pants and shirt. Before he skipped from the room, he turned to face John, and with a wink, snapped to attention. “Yes, sir!” He barked, and hurried off down the stairs. 

John followed, with every mind to make Sherlock Holmes pay for that.


End file.
